Mr. Fox had surrendered, and he stated the figure with the air of a man paying through the nose.
“An’ fohty pussent foh me?”
“Dat ouh ’greement, Pro.”
“Dat hoss’ name,” said Pro, opening the message and stopping in maddening deliberation—“dat hoss’ name—how Ah know yoh play faih?”
“Yoh knows me, Pro.”
“Uh—reckon Ah do, Clarence.”
“Den, what dat hoss’ name?”
Mr. Fox’s voice bore a note of irritation, and Pro hastened to ease the situation.
“K-u-n-n-e-l C-a-m-p-b-e-l-l,” Pro spelled from the message. “Kunnel Campbell—dat good hoss. Mist’ Jim bin hol’in’ him foh a killin’. Ought git a good price on dat hoss, Clarence.”
“Kunnel Campbell,” repeated Mr. Fox. “Ah’s gwine. Ah’ll be back atter dat race.”